


Summer Rain

by Dee_Moyza



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22357792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Moyza/pseuds/Dee_Moyza
Summary: A rainy-night stroll leads to another juncture in their relationship.
Relationships: Red/Subject | The Boxer
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	Summer Rain

**Author's Note:**

> (In the absence of an official name for Subject|The Boxer, I'll be using the name Auden, as found in the game's files)

Red wriggled out of her dress and sighed deeply, grateful to feel her lungs working properly again. The dress would definitely need to go back for alterations; there was more to a proper fit than a pleasing silhouette.

While she was always honest with the designer during fittings, there was no way for her to know how each garment really fit until she wore them onstage. Rehearsals weren't just for running through new music: any number of details, from the heat of the lights to her breath control, could affect the way clothes felt on her body, could transform them from ornament to prison. 

Nevertheless, she liked the color of this dress, a deep green that shimmered gold in the light, and she adored the cut; a bit more allowance around her ribs, and it would be perfect. She carefully slid the dress onto a hanger and into a garment bag, attaching a short note detailing her specifications, then peered into the mirror and smoothed down her hair.

A little grin played across her lips when, absent the rustling of fabric and sliding of hangers, she heard Auden pacing outside her dressing room. A few heavy footfalls in one direction, a pause, then a few more in the opposite direction. The pauses became progressively shorter, until he no longer stopped at all. She could imagine him, a pensive frown on his face, walking, turning on his heel, then walking and turning some more. She laughed and pulled on a comfortable outfit.

"You're restless," she called through the door.

"Huh?" His reply was muffled by the wood.

She opened the door and smiled up at him. His expression was just as she'd thought, with an added crease of confusion on his brow. 

"Restless," she repeated, motioning him inside. "You're going to wear a hole in the floorboards."

"Oops. Yeah, sorry about that." He walked in, but did not sit anywhere. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and swayed slightly from side to side, occasionally rolling his weight to the balls of his feet. "Got a bit of excess energy tonight, not sure why."

"I think I know. It's the weather, isn't it? This was the first cloudy day we've had in a long time."

He snorted. "Guess even the Administrators get tired of 'mild and inoffensive.'"

"And then there's that chance of rain. What is it, forty percent?"

"I'm trying not to get my hopes up about that."

"Your body language says otherwise."

He chuckled. "Can't get anything past you."

She arched an eyebrow. "You've only just noticed?" Turning toward the dressing table, she began gathering her belongings. "Give me a couple minutes, and then we'll get going."

"Sure thing. Want me to let the driver know?"

"Yes, tell him he's free to go. I think … I'll take the long way home tonight. I've missed this weather, too."

He flashed a grin, at once appreciative and conspiratorial. "That's my star," he said, walking out the door, "you know what's good."

⁂

The air was heavy and warm, and the city lights tinted the clouds a dull, dingy pink, like an unfinished skypainting, but with all the irregular, unpredictable wisps and curves and hazy contours that no skypainter had ever truly replicated. Perhaps a sky like this was too ordinary, too unrefined, too _indefinable_ to merit their efforts or attention.

Not unlike the man walking beside her, Red thought, surreptitiously looking him over. Auden didn't fit into the higher social strata of Cloudbank, had no place among its illustrious citizens. Growing up on the waterfront and earning his living with his hands had made him strong, but also, by Cloudbank's standards, rough. He was edges to their softness, frankness to their diplomacy; he was well-informed on the city's news, and the antics of its celebrities, but as far as Red knew, he was not a habitual voter, if he'd ever voted at all.

He didn't play Cloudbank's game, and that's what she admired most. She'd felt a thrill of rebellion when she declined to provide a reason for her selections years ago, but she could only imagine the exhilaration of refusing selection entirely. That the Administrators did not intervene and force him to decide spoke to his standing, or lack thereof, in the city, and he seemed perfectly content to slide beneath their notice.

He walked with his usual easy gait, but from the set of his jaw and his constantly sweeping gaze, Red could tell he was still on the lookout for any threats to her well-being. She grinned and nudged him playfully, giggling as he staggered a few steps to the side.

"Relax," she said, "and enjoy the evening."

"I'm enjoying it," he replied. "I just want to make sure we can _continue_ enjoying it. Don't want to be mobbed by fans out of nowhere. They might mean well, but, in a pack, they can get out of hand."

"A pack? They're not animals."

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

She shrugged. "All right, I admit they can be a little overzealous. But, like you said, they don't mean any harm. Besides –" she tugged at her shirt and patted her face, only lightly made-up "— I doubt they'd even recognize me. I'm not exactly glamorous tonight."

"But no less beautiful because of it."

She looked up, and he met her eyes, smiling and unabashed. He'd said it so simply, without hesitation, as if it was the most natural response in the world. And he'd meant every word.

Perhaps that explained the electricity that coursed through her veins just then. It couldn’t have been the words, themselves; she'd heard similar sentiments before, from other, duller admirers, to no such effect. 

No, it was the _way_ he said them. The way he looked at her when he said them. His openness, his honesty …

It was _him_.

She shook her head and laughed, feeling the sparks burn out and leave a delicious warmth in their wake, and he joined her. 

"It's true, it's true," he insisted. "I call things how I see 'em, you know that."

"I do, and I appreciate it." Their laughter faded, and so did her smile. "But you don't need to worry about me. I can handle myself around a few fans. Your primary job is to protect _them_ from each other."

"Yeah, I know."

"It's strange … one moment, they seem to be enjoying themselves, enjoying my music, then someone gets agitated. It only takes one …"

"You make them think." He stopped and placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her toward him. "You make them feel things they have no name for, feelings that haven't been suggested by a committee or Administrators or a popular vote. That's a lot to handle for people who choose their whole lives from ballots full of predetermined choices. I guess it … overloads their systems."

"I'll confess to wanting to make them think. I just never assumed thinking would lead to mayhem."

He grinned. "You touch them, Red. You reach somewhere inside of them that they've forgotten even exists. You remind them they have hearts."

She sighed. "I wonder if there was ever a time, or a place, where that was more of a compliment than an indictment. I wish more people saw things your way."

"That's one of the benefits of being a cipher in this system: you get to keep your own mind." He rubbed her shoulder lightly. "C'mon, forget about 'em for now. It's a nice night, and we've got a good walk ahead of us. Besides –" he glanced at the sky, then winked at her – "I could've sworn I just felt a raindrop."

⁂

He might have been joking, but the weather wasn't. They were walking along the canals, bathed in the polychrome glow of restaurant and bar signs, when the clouds unleashed a downpour, sending people scurrying into buildings for cover, some laughing, some cursing. Instinctively, he grasped her hand and began to do the same, when she stopped in her tracks and pulled him back, laughing.

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, blinking raindrops out of her eyes. "You've waited long enough for this. Why hide from it, now that it's here?"

He considered her words, then gave a perplexed chuckle. "Good question. I guess it's just what people –"

"What people do?" A sly grin crept across her lips. "Yes, I suppose it is. So, what happened to that independent mind of yours?"

"I'm using it right now, and it says that you –"

"Yes?"

"You're gonna get soaked."

She shook her head, sending heavy drops flying from the ends of her hair. "Too late! It's just water. Come on, let's enjoy this while it lasts! I've never walked in the rain without an umbrella before."

"Then you've seriously missed out." His features relaxed, and he gave her arm a gentle tug, drawing her close. "Let's fix that."

They continued walking, unhurried, glancing around themselves and smiling at the curious faces that peered out from under shelter. The rain was cool, but the air was warm, and Red twice declined Auden's offer of his jacket, preferring the sensation of water gliding across her skin, weighing down her hair and molding her clothes to her body. It was decadent, brazen, an outward expression of the defiance she normally reserved for her songs.

Then again, she often found that defiance lacking in others, making its outward expression useless, possibly even risky.

But seeing it reflected in another person, having it accepted, _encouraged_ , without admonition or tepid pleas, emboldened her. It compelled her to twirl beneath the raindrops to the rhythm of his laughter, to tramp through puddles and scatter the fragmented reflections within. It flung open doors to new ideas and inspired her work, taught her how to write songs that bridged the personal and the universal. 

Because _he_ understood.

Because he understood, she would write and sing for _him_. And because he understood, that meant others might, as well; that they just might grasp the nuances in her lyrics, knowingly or not.

Because he understood, she felt more confident than ever before.

More confident, more powerful, more appreciative. 

More _loved_.

The gondola to Highrise was deserted, the usual foot traffic still waiting out the rainstorm. Red and Auden boarded, still laughing, and began wringing the excess water from their clothes and hair as the gondola made its ascent. Halfway to the top, the rain eased into a fine mist, and a storm-cooled breeze sent a shiver through Red's body. Shaking his head, Auden slipped off his jacket and offered it to her, and this time, she accepted it gratefully. The jacket was heavy and soaked through, but it was still warm from his body, and proved an effective barrier against the wind. 

As the exhilaration of the evening ebbed, drowsiness threatened to overtake Red. She leaned against Auden for the rest of the ride, secure beneath the weight of his arm around her and lulled by the sound of his heartbeat. 

She couldn't suppress a groan of annoyance when the gondola reached its destination, but she straightened and stepped off, letting the cool night air reinvigorate her on the way to her apartment.

"Here you are," Auden said, upon reaching the terrace outside her door, "safe and sound. And soggy."

"It was worth it." Red walked to the railing and looked out over the city below, seeing very little beneath the clouds that still covered other districts. Here and there, pockets of light broke through, casting weak, if colorful, beams toward her apartment. "For the experience. For the memory."

She smiled up at him, noticed the muted lights reflecting in his eyes and off his rain-slicked skin, and felt a twinge in her heart. She didn't want to say goodnight, not yet. She wasn't ready to consign this evening to memory. She reached up and turned his face toward hers; then, rising on tiptoe, she kissed him.

He was quick to accommodate her, bending to meet her and pulling her closer. Compared to their wet clothes and the rain-chilled air, their kisses were hot, laced with an urgency, with a need, a want, a _hunger_ that hadn't been there before. When a moan escaped him and reverberated to the core of her being, her knees softened, and she knew she'd sailed right past the point of no return. She responded in kind, relishing the tremor that ran through his body, then pulled away, slowly, reluctantly, savoring the sensation, letting anticipation build within her, along with the courage to satisfy it.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke, and Red tried to get her breathing and heartrate back under control. Finally, with a sigh, she slipped off Auden's jacket and held it in front of her, studying it.

"You were kind enough to put up with my whims tonight," she said, "so I don't think it's fair that I send you away soaking wet, especially with the wind picking up. Why don't you come inside for a bit, to dry off and warm up?"

He raised his eyebrows and his lips twitched, trying, but failing, to prevent a roguish grin from spreading across his face. "I'd like that, thank you."

"Your clothes shouldn't take too long, in the dryer." She noticed his smile falter, and bit her lip to stifle a giggle, before raising his jacket. "But this," she said, shaking her head, "I'd rather not subject to high heat. It's probably best to let it air-dry."

His grin returned, accompanied this time by a mischievous spark in his eyes. "Are you sure about that? It might take a while."

She leveled her own knowing smile at him. "I'm sure. And I'm aware it could take a while. It could take hours." She unlocked her door, then winked at him over her shoulder. "Who knows? It might even take all night."

\- END -


End file.
